


Good Morning

by AlaskanRotworm



Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Destroy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Lesbians in Space, No AIs were harmed in this ending, Paragon Shepard (Mass Effect), Post-War, Reapers, References to Depression, at least in Liara's head
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2021-02-08 11:02:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21474934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlaskanRotworm/pseuds/AlaskanRotworm
Summary: A delve into the life and thoughts of Liara after the death of Shepard. Her trials as she goes through the events following the discovery of her bondmate, to the relocation into the hospital.
Relationships: Female Shepard/Liara T'Soni
Comments: 1
Kudos: 39





	Good Morning

**Author's Note:**

> Please read the tags, as this may be triggering for some. 
> 
> Not beta’d, all errors are my own.

“Hey beautiful.”

The voice cracked, strained and broken. A light tease found its way around the sore sounds whispering through an unused throat. 

She had to set the datapad down, a hand covering her mouth as a sob tried to escape. She didn’t want to look over, see the bandages and closed eyes and remember that her girlfriend- no, wife, wasn’t awake. Painful memories clenched her heart, refusing to let go as they cascaded around her head, reminding her of her own failure. 

Her armor...melted into her skin...burns covering exposed skin. The putrid stench of burned flesh almost giving the impression of an already deceased person. But the sight of a steady rise and fall, no matter how small, sent her flying towards the rubble, hands digging among the rocks, trying to free her love. They pulled her back, her own injuries too fresh for any hard labor; she was relegated to sitting back on her knees, sobbing as they dug her out, heads closed together as they whispered, occasional looks directed her way. They rushed her to the closest supplied ship, but no medbay was equipped enough. She  _ failed _ . She couldn’t protect her like she promised her would. 

The low steady line of a heartbeat not detected became a familiar noise to her. 

More shouts, more movement; following behind them, slowly, a possessed need to see it through. They relocated her to another ship; more doctors arrived...they set her outside, Doctor Chakwas giving her updates every other hour. 

Three became six...six became nine...until by the tenth hour, still clutching her now cold cup of still full tea, hands shaking, Doctor Chakwas came out once again. 

Garrus stood up for her, her eyes still trapped on the unmoving ripples in her cup, staring at nothing. Numb. 

The murmurs were dulled, her hearing faltering. 

_ “She’s alive.” _

The tea dropped to the floor, her chest letting out a shaky sob of relief. The pressure she held inside escaping, traveling with her tears. Arms wrapped around her form, more pairs joined her own, sobs echoed. 

In a coma, yes, but  _alive_. 

For weeks they had her on the Normandy; she barely left her side, only for the smallest of instances when even Glyph couldn’t manage being the Broker alone. 

The war was over, she had did it. The Reapers were destroyed, and thankfully, no other AI was taken with them. The Geth, EDI, she prevented their death. How angelic of her. 

Repairs of the whole galaxy were moving quick, but...her recovery wasn’t. They told her it would take some time, and a small part of her braces for this...this pain of never knowing when she’s going to wake up. The pain of never knowing if she was going to hear her voice again. 

_ Goddess their plans. _

Their little blue babies, her apartment...were they ever going to see fruition? 

It was hopeless to think, selfish even. So many others lost much bigger things than she did, but Goddess...it still didn’t hurt any less. The feeling of being empty consumed her, raw emotion and passion left her, a husk not of Reaper making. Bits and pieces of a shell left behind in the rubble they found her in. A scar running deep into her flesh never to heal by conventional means. 

All she could do was wait. It didn’t matter who came to visit, to try and pry her away from her beloved. To free her from the scaffold of her own design, trapped in the walls of her mind. They knew their efforts, though well intended, were lost. 

Affairs of lost projects never came back to bring her joy. It was her love who motivated her at all to dig into the Crucible, the destruction of the galaxy only a second motivator, the background to the precursor. Her death cemented lost interests, reports became lifeless rather than dull. She could’ve done so much more, with her by her side. 

All she could do...all that was of some worth in this almost meaningless life...was to write. Javik, surprisingly, held off his final wish, in honor of the Commander, to write about himself with her, but only if she promised to write about the Commander as well. 

Even now, it was a snail’s pace of progress. The inspiration, the  _ tap tap  _ of fingers against a datapad, they only came in small increments, when she would allow herself to grow hopeful for a  second  when the body beside her shifted ever so slightly...before growing still once more.

They moved her to the Citadel almost a year after she had been recovered. She had clutched the almost lifeless hand desperately, walking with the doctors to Huerta, where mournful faces full with pity rushed by; she spared them no glance. 

They repaired her apartment. Everything was the same as it had been, or so they told her. The repairs of the Mass Relays were important, the Citadel followed behind quickly. Ingenuity of the species she had brought together amazed her. The blindingly fast pace they had all given once the war was over. That same pace seemed lost to her. It should’ve amazed her, but what good was it if the one who brought them together wasn’t there to celebrate. 

The Council put up a statue of her, invited the ones by her side to attend. She didn’t. She couldn’t leave her. Her reasoning:  _ what if she wakes up?  _

They claimed they understood, and maybe a part of them did. She watched the replays of the event on the net. Everyone cheering, smiling; the faces of people who wanted to put the memories of the Reaper’s behind them, to not be defined by them. 

She couldn’t share their similar circumstances. Her memory was next her, to remain that way until the very day she would wake up came. 

She had tried to fill the waiting days with memories of almost forgotten smiles. Freckles from the both of them spreading to their ears; noses brushing together as they moved closer together, laughter echoing as they tried again. Brief touches, languid kisses, the moments where time froze and it was just them, staring up into the abyss, hand in hand. Just them. Blue eyes meeting green, arms wrapped around the others body, clothes discarded; the flavors of their respective harmony blending together for those fleeting moments. 

For all she knew, it could’ve been in a dream. She could be still stuck in that bubble, dreaming in those delusional moments with a hero of her own making. 

Life reminded her it wasn’t fake, her dreams were real, the pain was constant. It didn’t stop her from seeing that familiar freckled face in her dreams. She would run to her, before the wisps would escape her arms, and that smile would be gone. Her eyes would open, and the sterile smell of the hospital would remind her. 

She couldn’t... _she wouldn’t_... the voice had to be a new false hope her mind conjured up. She didn’t want to know the voice was false.  _ She wasn’t there.  _

“ Liara?” 

She cried out.  _ No...it has to be fake. _

A joke being played on her by the universe. 

No matter how much her heart protested, how she knew it had to be fake, she looked over anyway, eyes starting at the foot of the hospital bed. They followed the form of her love, resting for moments on every small crinkle of the blanket, the rise and fall of her chest. They traced her now scarred face; meeting her blinking, tired eyes had her falling to her knees, clutching the side of the bed. 

“Shepard.” 

_ She was...Goddess... _

She reached out, a pale blue hand clasping a calloused, battle scarred one.

_ “I’m here. I’m here Liara.”  _

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed.


End file.
